


A possible and beautiful sound

by astralelegies



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, Classical Music, F/M, Gen, Music school AU, Royai Week 2016, day 5: music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralelegies/pseuds/astralelegies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riza Hawkeye is a pianist in her third year of a music conservatory program. On top of having to master all her pieces for finals week, her friend Rebecca won't get off her case about her conflicted feelings for a certain Roy Mustang, who she just-so-happens to be performing a duet with. But when Roy and his violin show up late one night outside her dorm room window, whether she's prepared or not, everything is about to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A possible and beautiful sound

**Author's Note:**

> Another e.e. cummings title, this one from the poem "Take for example this"

Practice room 5C was tucked at the end of a seldom-used hallway on the third floor of the main orchestra building. It was the smallest of such chambers available, and covered in dust unless Riza brought a rag and cleaned it herself, but it was private, and it had a little cupboard for her secret snack stash. And that made everything alright.

Apart from the storage unit, there was just enough room for herself and a keyboard, which wasn’t any more glamorous than the location, but at least it was portable. Sometimes she came just to think, but on days like this one she’d lug her instrument along and settle in for a few hours of hard work. 

Her father had never thought that a music conservatory was rigorous enough to prepare her for a real career, but sitting here with only a few days left until final performance week, rehearsing the same set of bars from Chopin’s Étude No.11 in A minor, Op. 25 that she hadn’t yet mastered, she knew how wrong he’d been. She’d taken to practically living in this practice room, no matter how much Rebecca chastised her, spending every second she could spare outside of class going over all the pieces she needed to know. Next year would be her last before she graduated, and she’d be damned if she didn’t make it into the school’s most elite string ensemble by then. After that she could land a job with a professional orchestra no problem.

She glanced up at the picture she had taped on the wall above her keyboard—her and Rebecca and Roy and Hughes, taken halfway through their freshman year—and wondered how they’d all gotten to be so old. Not even three years had passed since then, but it felt like a lifetime. 

She was jolted from her reverie by a pounding on the practice room door. Rebecca Catalina stood outside, hands on her hips, grinning not a little vindictively through the square of glass. Riza let her in.

“If you’re not going to play anything,” she said, “you may as well come hang out with me.”

“I was playing,” said Riza.

“Really? Because to me that looked more like daydreaming. Come on. You’ve been in here for three hours at least. You need some fresh air.”

She refused to listen to Riza’s protests, dragging her away from her sheet music and out onto the quad, by their customary spot near the willow tree. 

“Seriously, Riza. I don’t know how you can spend so much time in that stuffy old practice room and stay sane.”

She shrugged. “It’s cozy. And unlike some people I know the importance of rehearsal.”

Rebecca sniffed. “For your information, I spent all morning going over three of my pieces for next week with Professor Grumman. Your grandfather is a terrible old man, by the way, I sometimes doubt that you’re actually related. I just don’t need to shut myself away from all forms of natural light to practice for finals week.”

“You have always preferred the more avant-garde.”

“It’s much more fun that way.” Rebecca waved suddenly at a figure on the path ahead. “Look who it is.”

Roy stopped in front of them. “Oh, hey Rebecca. Have you seen—Riza. Hi.” 

She felt her ears going red. “Hi Roy.”

They stared at each other, unable to look away. Rebecca glanced very significantly between the two of them, a slow smile spreading on her face. “Who were you searching for, Roy?”

He blinked, tore his gaze from Riza’s face with evident reluctance.

“Hughes,” he said. “We’re supposed to be pranking the first chair violinist.”

“And what did the first chair violinist do to deserve such treatment?” Rebecca lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Are you using fire this time.”

“Please,” he said, “fire is my specialty.”

“You’d better not get caught,” said Riza. “I’m not going to bail you out like last time.” 

“Noted. Well, I should be going.” He nodded his head at Rebecca, gave Riza a flamboyant bow. “See you around.”

As soon as he was gone Rebecca turned to her, an all-too-knowing gleam in her eyes. “So what’s the story between you and a certain Roy Mustang?”

Riza rolled her eyes. “We’ve been friends since we were first years. You know that.”

“I do. And since that time I have watched you grow from hopelessly awkward dorks to dorks that are slightly less awkward and entirely head-over-heels.”

“I think you’re willfully misinterpreting my lack of a love live.”

“And I think _you’re_ avoiding the question.” 

Riza sighed. “Roy is…complicated. And that’s why I’m dropping the subject, you traitor.”

Rebecca grinned. “Excuse me for caring about your happiness.” 

“You just care about stirring up drama in my life.”

“I care about _both_ of those things.”

They talked for a while longer as the sun sank lower and lower over the horizon. Later that night, in the dorm room, while Rebecca slept soundly in the bed next to hers, Riza lay awake thinking everything over. Roy was complicated, but that wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t talk about him with Rebecca. She didn’t really know why, if she was being honest with herself. She and Roy had always had an easy friendship; there was an understanding between them that transcended words. Perhaps it transcended the articulation of feelings as well. 

The two of them were at lunch together the next day, along with Rebecca and Hughes and Havoc and Fuery and the rest of their friends. They spent the entire time avoiding each other’s eyes, glancing across the table for brief instants until they were caught, looking back to their plates.

“Aren’t you performing a duet together for the final concert?” Rebecca asked her afterwards. 

“We’ve been practicing three times a week for the past month,” she said, because in spite of any recent weirdness between them it was true. “I wouldn’t concern yourself.”

And for a while Rebecca didn’t speak a word on the subject, but one week she marched up to Riza after a theory class with a look on her face that spelled trouble. 

Riza crossed her arms. “What is it this time?”

“It’s about Roy.”

“Rebecca, I told you—

“Listen, I came across him and Hughes talking at an ominously low volume earlier and I fear for the future.”

“Did you find out anything concrete?”

Rebecca shook her head. “But they were scheming, I guarantee it.”

Riza would have called her paranoid, but whenever that pair put their heads together about something it meant trouble, and she doubted this would be the exception. 

“I’ll keep an eye out,” she said.

“I may have lied when I said I didn’t find out anything concrete,” said Rebecca. “I heard your name mentioned.”

Riza punched her. “And you didn’t think to tell me this _before_?” 

“I didn’t think you’d care that much about it,” she yelped, rubbing her arm. “I’m going to have a bruise now.”

“Tough. You sure you didn’t hear anything else?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Then I’ll definitely keep an eye out.” 

She dragged her keyboard back to the practice room and tried to pretend her stomach wasn’t squirming with anticipation. Halfway into her second hour there was a knock on the door and she opened it because she thought Rebecca had come to pester her, but it was Roy who stood on threshold, hands crammed into his pockets. 

“Um,” she said. 

“I could hear you all the way down the hall,” he said. “I thought these things were supposed to be sound proof.”

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

“No no, I like to hear you play.” He paused. “Can I—

“Of course.” She moved aside to allow him in. “Did you bring your instrument?”

“Just myself this time. Sorry.” 

They looked at each other, unsure of what to do. He picked up her sheet music.

“Chopin’s Étude No.11 in A minor, Op. 25. The Winter Wind. Very fitting.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“It’s cold. And kind of angry.” He reddened. “Not that I think _you’re_ cold and angry, god no, I just—never mind.” 

“I understand,” she said. 

“It’s fast and furious,” he said. “That’s more like you. At least when I do something stupid, which is frequently.”

She snorted. “Your flattery is boundless.” 

He grinned, brushing a finger against her photograph. 

“Nice picture.”

“It’s one of my favorites.”

They were careful not to point out her arm slung casually around his shoulder, his hand at her waist, relics of a past more comfortable or less self-aware. 

He coughed. “I should…leave. Probably. Violin to play, and all that.”

She nodded. 

“I’ll…I’ll see you later.”

“Tomorrow. For duet practice.”

“Right.”

“Roy?”

He stopped in the doorway, turning back to her. “Yeah?”

“Rebecca says you’re planning something.”

A smirk broke out over his face. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”  
It took Riza a long time to fall asleep that night. That seemed to be happening more often lately. When she finally did drift off, she was awoken not long after by the strains of a familiar melody filtering in through the open window. Frowning slightly, she dragged herself up to a seated position, kicking her blankets off in the process. She knew that song, and the instrument playing it. Her feet found her slippers and she stood slowly. 

It was definitely violin music she heard, faint but distinct over the ordinary sounds of night, and coming from nearby. She crept quietly over to the window and peeked her head out. 

Roy Mustang stood in the yard at the foot of her building, bow in hand, grinning up at her in a way that twisted her insides together. 

“What are you _doing_ here,” she hissed, smiling slightly in spite of herself. 

“I’m serenading you,” he said, fingers flying over strings. “It’s a romantic gesture.”

“Indeed.”

“How’s this for flattery?”

“An admirable effort,” she said, “very gallant.”

“And is it working?”

 _How could it not be?_ she thought, but didn’t say it. “It’s missing something.”

Softly, so as not to wake Rebecca, she hefted her keyboard into her arms and lugged it down the stairs. She met Roy out in the yard.

“A duet needs two players,” she said. His grin grew, if possible, wider. 

They finished the song together, not caring that it was at least one in the morning and they should probably be sleeping or at least holding more regard for those who were. Roy set his instrument gently aside.

“So what do you think?” he asked, voice low. “Are we performance ready?”

She leaned in and kissed him. He threaded his arms around her waist, pressing her back against the dormitory wall. She pulled away after a few moments, resting her forehead against his. He gazed at her, eyes dark and so soft they stirred something below her stomach. She grabbed his hand.

“Definitely,” she said, and smiled.


End file.
